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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29840955">Thread Fics</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/winwinism/pseuds/winwinism'>winwinism</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Drabble Collection, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 22:20:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,507</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29840955</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/winwinism/pseuds/winwinism</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Collection of fics originally posted to Twitter in thread format.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>36</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Alpha/Alpha SakuAtsu</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Alpha Kiyoomi lusts after his alpha roommate, Atsumu.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><b>Rating:</b> Explicit</p><p><b>Tags:</b> Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Voyeurism, Masturbation</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Kiyoomi knows he’s a freak.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Knowing this doesn’t stop him from getting his cock out when he hears the omega start to moan, soft whimpers burbling through the thin wall that separates his room from Atsumu’s. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kiyoomi doesn’t know what the omega looks like. He imagines someone lanky and baby-faced, with curves and softness in places Kiyoomi has only hard muscle. Plush lips, doe eyes that flutter when an alpha pleasures him just right. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knows what Atsumu looks like. He knows him naked, in uniform, in press conference dress, in club attire. What he doesn’t know is how he looks during sex. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>How he might bite his lip and sigh. How he might flush. How he might wear his orgasm on those handsome features, hips stuttering as he flooded a faceless omega with his cum. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kiyoomi bites his own lip as he coaxes himself to hardness, shifting on his bed so his back leans against the dividing wall. He can’t hear Atsumu, but he can hear the omega’s moans escalating in pitch, growing more urgent. Is he--Kiyoomi closes his eyes, the imagined scene blossoming behind his eyelids:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Atsumu, shadowed in moonlight, bent over the omega’s back as he scissors him open with thick, calloused fingers, turning his knees to jelly with each precise movement. He’d be as demanding as he is on the court, hungry for the omega’s pleasure, murmuring encouragement and praise in his Kansai drawl. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d soothe the omega with a hand on his hip, a kiss to his shoulder, pure mockery as the fingers inside him made him gasp and shudder. Atsumu would be good at this, because he’s good at most everything, and above all, he’s good with his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kiyoomi can feel the flush blooming from his ears all the way down his chest. He releases his lower lip and pants into the dark of his room: pathetic, like he’s the omega being speared on Atsumu’s fingers and getting his bedsheets messy with slick. Beads of precum roll down his stiff cock, the scent of him a dark, alpha musk, unlike the sticky, flowery sweetness of an omega. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kiyoomi shouldn’t want Atsumu. The thought only makes him harder.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>
  <a href="https://twitter.com/winwinism/status/1366668707720810496?s=20">Originally posted here.</a>
</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. SakuAtsu Band AU</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Kiyoomi and Atsumu are part of the same band and friends-with-benefits.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><b>Rating:</b> Explicit</p><p><b>Tags:</b> Bathroom Sex, Degradation</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The tour setlist every Black Jackals fan worth their salt knows by heart is a lie. The show isn’t really over until Kiyoomi’s wrapped around Atsumu’s cock in a dirty bathroom stall, clawing Atsumu’s back bloody, screaming his name. </p><p>By now, they’ve got this whole routine down to a science. How they duck out of sight when Koutarou and Shouyou aren’t looking. How they choose where they do it--somewhere quiet, somewhere their managers or squealing fans won’t get to them. Who brings the condom (Atsumu). The lies they tell themselves when it’s over. </p><p>Lie number one: Atsumu just needs a quick fuck after a show. He hates his fans, can’t stand his groupies--their saccharine fawning does nothing for him--but he’s a narcissist and gets off on having a whole stadium’s attention on him anyway. </p><p>Kiyoomi’s convenient. He’s there. He won’t (can’t, probably) fake an orgasm or moan to stroke Atsumu’s ego. He’ll bite his lip until he physically can’t. Atsumu likes his bottoms honest. </p><p>Lie number two: Kiyoomi’s a slut who’d spread his legs for most anyone, come crawling back on his hands and knees if they fucked him just this side of right. He’s a bit of a size queen. Atsumu can make him cum untouched. ‘Course he’d never say no.</p><p>Lie number three: it doesn’t mean anything.</p><p>It doesn’t. They hate each other. They hated each other from day one, and will until the day the Black Jackals go down in flames. That’s how it is and always will be.</p><p>Atsumu hated Kiyoomi ‘cause he wasn’t Osamu, who’d quit the band to start a fuckin’ onigiri stand back home. He hated him because Kiyoomi was a better bassist than Osamu would ever be, and Atsumu thought he was kinda cool despite himself. </p><p>Kiyoomi hated Atsumu ‘cause he was a rude, aggressive slob who made Koutarou cry their first rehearsal as four. Who wouldn’t?</p><p>As a couple, they could never work. But like this, maybe--</p><p>There’s no time to think about it. Atsumu pulls the stall door shut behind them and gets Kiyoomi pressed up against the grimy tiles before either of them can.</p><p>Kiyoomi’s already breathing hard, thinking, Atsumu’s in a bad mood. He fucked up his last solo; his voice cracked twice. He’ll be angry, use Kiyoomi’s body to vent his frustrations--and Kiyoomi will welcome it, falling apart the way he always does.</p><p>Instead, Atsumu kisses him like they’re lovers and cups Kiyoomi’s half-hard cock through the leather pants glued by sweat to his thighs, pulling away to laugh against his lips. </p><p>“Dude, I fuckin’ sucked out there.”</p><p>“Uh, yeah.” Kiyoomi’s surprised he’s not the one who says it first. </p><p>“Maybe if you hadn’t been out there fuckin’ grinding on your guitar, making sex noises into the mic all damn night. What got into you, huh? I’d say you should be locked up but you’d probably like that, too, ya little slut.”</p><p>Kiyoomi blinks at him, stomach tensing as Atsumu palms his cock and licks over his own red lips like he’s starving and Kiyoomi’s a plate of fatty tuna. They’re both grossly sweaty, B.O. overtaking their rock star cologne, and Atsumu’s white tee sticks to his pecs like a wet dream. “You’re delusional.”</p><p>“You’re too damn distracting,” Atsumu whines, getting his hands under Kiyoomi’s shirt and chasing his lips. Kiyoomi squashes Atsumu’s cheeks to hold him at bay. </p><p>“Then stop being distracted and fuck me.” When has he ever had to ask? </p><p>“You stop looking at me like that first.”</p><p>“Like what?”</p><p>“You know damn well what.”</p><p>“Then I won’t look at you at all.” Kiyoomi shoulders him away, intending to turn around; they can do it like that, too. </p><p>“Wait, Omi--look at me.”</p><p>“You’re being needy,” Kiyoomi says, but does. Atsumu’s skin shines in the dull light. his hair’s still stiff with the gel the stylists had put in it. Kiyoomi likes it better clean and soft so he can run his hands through it, grab onto locks of fuckboy blond like they’re handlebars and Atsumu’s mouth is the seat of the bike. </p><p>Kiyoomi lets himself be kissed. Atsumu tastes like the beer he’d cracked open to get him through the final third of the set. Kiyoomi should tell him to kick that habit before it gets any worse. Kiyoomi should pretend he doesn’t care either way. because he doesn’t. No pretending involved.</p><p>Atsumu grinds their hips together slow and lascivious, letting Kiyoomi feel how hard he is. Kiyoomi’s spine pricks with want; and as if reading his mind, Atsumu smirks into the kiss.</p><p>“That’s rich, a needy slut like you calling me needy. If it wasn’t me god knows who’s dick you’d be gagging on right now.”</p><p>“You have to wonder,” Kiyoomi murmurs, playing along. </p><p>“Yeah, I wonder. Some dangerous freak from the audience, maybe--I might be saving your life by doing this.”</p><p>“Thanks,” says Kiyoomi dryly, suppressing a shiver as Atsumu works open his pants, shoving them down his thighs just enough that he can fit his palm around Kiyoomi’s ass, rubbing over his hole through the fabric. </p><p>Kiyoomi swallows a moan. He was never this sensitive before Atsumu got his hands on him. </p><p>“You’re so hot back here,” Atsumu whispers into his jawline, nipping at it until Kiyoomi’s head thuds painfully against the wall. “Think you might burn me alive.”</p><p>“Good.” Kiyoomi’s face burns. Atsumu licks his lips, eyes shamelessly fixed on the wet patch in Kiyoomi’s boxers. </p><p>When Atsumu tells him to turn around, it’s a blessing. Sometimes, Kiyoomi can’t stand Atsumu’s leering. The way he looks at Kiyoomi like he’s the single hottest--most desirable--no, the thing he likes best in the universe. Like he’ll never get enough. </p><p>Atsumu isn’t like the boys Kiyoomi let bed him at university, who were careful and gentle and uncertain. Kiyoomi hears him rip open the condom, huff as he rolls it over his dick. He spits. </p><p>“Think you’re ready for me, slut?” Atsumu says, fitting the hot length of it between Kiyoomi’s thighs. </p><p>Obviously not, Kiyoomi thinks, and: call me something else for once. be creative. “Don’t be an ass.”</p><p>“Rather be in yours.”</p><p>“You’re not funny.” </p><p>“You think i’m adorable,” Atsumu says, a sneer. this, Kiyoomi admits, is almost funny. “Gonna beg for it?”</p><p>“Go fuck yourself.”</p><p>“Maybe later. Might even let you watch. Private show just for you, hmm? Hope you’re feeling vip as fuck.” Atsumu gives him two saliva-wet fingers. Says, “Jesus fuck you’re loose, you do this a lot?” Atsumu fucked him last night on an amplifier. that shit’s expensive; Kiyoomi’s still not quite sure why they did it. </p><p>Kiyoomi cants his hips back and spreads his legs, as whorish as Atsumu’s stupid dirty talk makes him out to be. “Yeah, I do, so what?” He grinds his hips down on Atsumu’s fingers without meaning to, grimacing, humiliated, when Atsumu laughs. His calluses are hell on Kiyoomi’s nerve endings--no, better.</p><p>“So?” Atsumu echoes, withdrawing his fingers and replacing them with the weight of his stiff cock, the head teasing over Kiyoomi’s entrance. “Means i can do what i want and you’ll like it.” </p><p>Does it? Kiyoomi’s head is foggy. His thighs shake at the awkward position; he’s exhausted, his blood sugar’s kinda low, and he just wants--</p><p>Atsumu shifts closer, aligning spine to torso, looping an arm around Kiyoomi’s waist. He presses in without warning, groaning, the arm around Kiyoomi cinching tighter in concert with Kiyoomi’s shudder, the weakening of his muscles as Atsumu splits him open. </p><p>It doesn’t matter how often he does it. Kiyoomi’s jaw locks open on a silent gasp as Atsumu fills him up, and when he’s balls deep the Black Jackals’ leader singer gives a low moan of satisfaction worth ten Grammys, maybe more. </p><p>“Fuckin’ perfect,” Atsumu hums, kissing the wet curve of Kiyoomi’s shoulder once, horribly tender, before pulling out and slamming back inside like he hates him, like he wants to destroy him. </p><p>“What the fuck,” Kiyoomi chokes out. </p><p>Atsumu reaches around for Kiyoomi’s cock. Thumbs over the tip roughly, making Kiyoomi cringe. “Oh, you’re dripping for it.”</p><p>“Don’t--”</p><p>“I know what you want. A sweet, gentle fuck, ain’t that right?” Atsumu grinds his hips, working his cock deeper, licking the sweat off Kiyoomi’s neck like the disgusting animal that he is. “We might even cuddle and hold hands after.”</p><p>He is funny, Kiyoomi silently corrects. “Not particularly.”</p><p>“Good,” Atsumu says. “Cause I ain’t really in the mood for that either.”</p><p>Atsumu tightens his fist around Kiyoomi and jerks him off roughly, inelegantly, as he begins to thrust in earnest. The sweat-damp slap of his hips is cacophonous in the empty washroom, Kiyoomi’s helpless moans humiliatingly exposed. Atsumu groans and grunts like an idiot, babbles nonsense into Kiyoomi’s shoulder, stuff he wouldn’t say if he wasn’t drunk on adrenaline and testosterone and whatever the fuck else. </p><p>“Fuckin’ dream about this, you know that? Still tight as fuck, ‘s like you were born for this. Think you were made for my dick, sweetheart, straight out the factory, my own little fuckhole--”</p><p>“Shut the fuck up,” Kiyoomi hears himself moan.</p><p>“You’re so close. Gonna talk you right off one of these days. a couple words’re all you need, you love it so much.”</p><p>Delusional, Kiyoomi insists, vibrating with pain and pleasure. Atsumu’s holding him too tightly, his body pressed too close--it’s all Kiyoomi can do to suck in another breath. <em>No, stop</em> hover on the tip of his tongue. He aches. He never wants it to end. </p><p>The words trip out of him like a reflex: “Harder, <em>god</em>, fuck me like you <em>mean it</em>.”</p><p>“Sure thing, slut.”</p><p>Kiyoomi’s cum paints the wall, Jackson Pollock-style. Atsumu fucks him through it carelessly, driving him straight through pleasure into oversensitivity until Kiyoomi squirms and jerks with every throughst. </p><p>“Stop, stop,” he shakes out, and Atsumu obliges. The emptiness that follows is almost worse. Atsumu’s body heat slips away, leaving only a gnawing ache in its wake. His knees feel like jelly.</p><p>But a moment later, Atsumu returns, naked cock in hand. He wants to kiss Kiyoomi through his orgasm, clumsily bite his lips and pant like a dog into his mouth. “Shit,” he hisses, and Kiyoomi zeroes in on the furrow in his brow, the way his proud features go slack as his cock jumps and spurts all over his fist. </p><p>How many fans would kill to see this? Kiyoomi supposes he should feel lucky. Instead, he feels ravenous, like he’s just eaten a full-course meal and it wasn’t enough. There’s an aching hunger in him that can’t be, will never be sated. </p><p>He suspects that Atsumu is the same. That they’re both lucky they have music through which to vent their feelings. no matter how much it hurts, Kiyoomi wouldn’t give up this band for the world.</p><p>Atsumu smiles wryly at Kiyoomi as he briskly wipes off his hand, but doesn’t say anything. <em>Now you can shut up</em>, Kiyoomi thinks.</p><p>“The others’ll be starting to wonder,’ Kiyoomi says, voice coming out thinner than he’d intended. He clears his throat. </p><p>“Yeah,” Atsumu agrees. </p><p>Atsumu lurches closer, suddenly, and Kiyoomi’s heart seizes with the knowledge of what he’s about to do: they can’t do that now, not after it’s over. But Atsumu stops himself, clearing his throat, ducking past him. </p><p>They don’t cuddle or hold hands. Atsumu heads back first, leaving Kiyoomi to glower at himself in the scuffed-up bathroom mirror, scrubbing his hands raw. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>
  <a href="https://twitter.com/winwinism/status/1366905971340156932?s=20">Originally posted here.</a>
</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. SakuAtsu Sexting</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Kiyoomi sends Atsumu a dick pic.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><b>Rating:</b> Explicit</p><p><b>Tags:</b> Post-Canon, Sexting</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Atsumu’s about two months into his first season in Russia when he gets a dick pic from Sakusa Kiyoomi.</p><p>It’s 8 PM Moscow time. Which means it’s 2 AM Japan time and Kiyoomi’s still up, snapping pics of his rock-hard cock in what looks like his apartment. </p><p>Atsumu’s caught too off guard to react properly. He fucking laughs and fires off a reply. </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><strong>Atsumu: </strong>nice cock bro</p>
</blockquote><p>Atsumu gets a reply from Kiyoomi about ten minutes later. </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><strong>Sakusa: </strong>You’re not Ushijima-san. </p>
  <p><strong>Atsumu: </strong>it’s true</p>
</blockquote><p>Kiyoomi doesn’t reply again for the rest of the night.</p><p>This unceremonious communication is the first either of them have made since Atsumu had his official sendoff party with the Black Jackals. Atsumu had gotten stupider drunk than he probably should’ve, and Kiyoomi had sat in the corner booth the whole time looking pissed off. Atsumu assumed it was because Kiyoomi wasn’t one for parties or getting stupid drunk, not because he was particularly sad about Atsumu leaving the team. If he was, it was because the Jackals’ replacement setter would no doubt be inferior. <em>Sucked to be him</em>, Atsumu thought, and proceeded to do shots with Koutarou like it was their last night on earth. </p><p>To be honest, Atsumu has always found Kiyoomi wildly attractive. His germ-hating glower gives him a stern, sort of sexy air of authority, and he carries himself with an elegance you don’t see often on hulking 190 centimeter athletes. But Atsumu had found out the hard way in his youth that most of the guys in his profession were straight, so he never went for it. Never even gave an indication that he was interested. </p><p>With these two messages, however, Atsumu finds himself beset by a pair of startling revelations. </p><p>Most importantly, that Kiyoomi is--probably, most likely, unless he was asking <em>Ushijima-san </em>to check his dick for unknown non-sexual reasons--interested in men. Wakatoshi, specifically. Atsumu knows they’ve been friends for a while. Are they secretly lovers, then? Wakatoshi’s still playing for the Adlers; maybe that’s why Kiyoomi chose to stay in Japan despite a few eye-popping offers from abroad.</p><p>Secondly--and this is where Atsumu starts to wonder if he’s actually any better than his reputation--Sakusa Kiyoomi has a nice dick. </p><p>Atsumu wholly intends to delete the message from his phone. He does not. He taps on it and zooms the fuck in, locating a dark brown mole identical to the ones on his forehead below the sharp V of his hips. Kiyoomi’s got a fist around the base, and a clear bead of precum sits atop the purpling tip. </p><p>Atsumu doesn’t intend to jack off to it either; but when the photo all but branded into his eyeballs pops into his head the next time he gets off, there’s nothing he can do to stop himself. He whimpers with want, tortured by the knowledge that the hottest man alive with the prettiest dick the gods ever made is several timezones away and unavailable. </p><p>He quickly gets over this embarrassing bout of emotion, because Atsumu is nothing if not trained to avoid pining after the unavailable. </p><p>The next time Kiyoomi texts him, it’s 7 PM and Atsumu’s just finished with dinner. Another late one for Omi-kun, then, not that Atsumu’s gonna mother him about it. </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><strong>Sakusa:</strong> I apologize for sending you that.</p>
  <p><strong>Atsumu: </strong>no problem</p>
  <p><strong>Sakusa:</strong> Thank you.<br/>
I’d appreciate if you could keep this between us. </p>
  <p><strong>Atsumu: </strong>ofc<br/>
what kinda asshole do u think i am?<br/>
lol don’t answer that</p>
</blockquote><p>Kiyoomi doesn’t. </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><strong>Sakusa:</strong> You should understand, I don’t usually do things like that.<br/>
I was drunk, and quite lonely. It was...a lapse in my judgment. </p>
</blockquote><p>Atsumu raises his eyebrows in surprise. He sits himself on the couch for this one, flicking on the TV to some incomprehensible Russian news channel as background noise. </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><strong>Atsumu: </strong>damn really<br/>
so like<br/>
r u and ushiwaka 2gether?<br/>
u dont have to answer that </p>
  <p><strong>Sakusa:</strong> We are not.</p>
</blockquote><p>Oh? Atsumu thinks. Juicy.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><strong>Atsumu: </strong>shiiiit<br/>
so u were just gonna hit him with a dick pic outta nowhere huh??<br/>
good thing u sent it to me instead 😂 yw btw </p>
</blockquote><p>Atsumu consoles himself with the knowledge that he’s being a good friend, even if they’re not friends, not really. A good ex-teammate, maybe. </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><strong>Sakusa:</strong> Yes I suppose it was lucky.</p>
</blockquote><p>Atsumu gnaws his lip. Even if Kiyoomi trusts him, he must be embarrassed as hell, having his secrets one-sidedly exposed. Perhaps a little vulnerability on Atsumu’s part wouldn’t be unwarranted. </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><strong>Atsumu: </strong>its cool with me if u like men tho<br/>
cuz i also<br/>
like men<br/>
im bi </p>
</blockquote><p>Kiyoomi’s typing bubble appears and disappears in rapid succession for several minutes before his next response comes through. </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><strong>Sakusa:</strong> Oh.</p>
  <p><strong>Atsumu: </strong>that’s it?</p>
  <p><strong>Sakusa:</strong> what else should i say? </p>
  <p><strong>Atsumu: </strong>idk that’s a good question<br/>
‘solidarity, brother’, something like that</p>
</blockquote><p>Atsumu pictures Kiyoomi calling literally anyone <em>brother</em> and laughs out loud.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><strong>Sakusa:</strong> Solidarity, then.</p>
  <p><strong>Atsumu: </strong>thanks<br/>
yknow i wasnt lying earlier either<br/>
u got a real nice dick</p>
</blockquote><p>Wait. Wait. No. Where’s the unsend button? Where’s the <em>fucking </em>unsend button, how does he--Atsumu can’t do this right now. He sets his phone down and takes a full lap around his apartment before checking it again. </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><strong>Sakusa:</strong> Is that so.<br/>
Thank you? </p>
</blockquote><p>Atsumu breathes out a sigh of relief. Kiyoomi’s always been a little socially awkward, a little clumsy with locker room banter--maybe he doesn’t know guys don’t usually say stuff like that immediately after confessing that they like men. </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><strong>Atsumu: </strong>yep<br/>
ushiwaka’s gonna be over the moon when he sees all of that lol</p>
</blockquote><p>Atsumu is going to fucking end it all. Right now. </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><strong>Sakusa:</strong> Really??</p>
</blockquote><p>Sometimes, Atsumu can’t stand the constant roller coaster of his emotions. He wants off this ride. Actually, he can think of something else he’d rather ride. </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><strong>Atsumu: </strong>don’t really have a reason to compliment ur dick if i don’t mean it, do i? </p>
  <p><strong>Sakusa:</strong> I suppose not.<br/>
So was the photo<br/>
Flattering? </p>
</blockquote><p>Atsumu’s breath catches involuntarily. He rereads the message, wondering if he isn’t projecting, if Kiyoomi means what Atsumu thinks he does.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><strong>Sakusa:</strong> yeah lol it was pretty hot dude<br/>
u dont have to be so insecure</p>
</blockquote><p>Atsumu never would’ve pegged Kiyoomi, of all people, as the type to be insecure; but it’s not as if he ever knew him that well, and love (or a crush, or whatever Kiyoomi has for Japan’s cannon) can do strange things to people. </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><strong>Sakusa:</strong> I’m not, I’m just curious about your opinion.</p>
  <p><strong>Atsumu: </strong>curious.. how<br/>
u wanna know if i think ur hot stuff? </p>
  <p><strong>Sakusa:</strong> You don’t have to answer.</p>
</blockquote><p>Wouldn’t have pegged him for the shallow type, either. Atsumu snorts despite himself. This is a fucking riot. </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><strong>Atsumu: </strong>just cuz im bi doesnt mean i go for every guy on the planet yknow 😗</p>
  <p><strong>Sakusa:</strong> I know that.</p>
  <p><strong>Atsumu: </strong>kidding<br/>
yeah i do think ur pretty sexy omi kun<br/>
solid 8/10 </p>
  <p><strong>Sakusa:</strong> Oh.</p>
  <p><strong>Atsumu: </strong>can u quit it with the ‘oh’<br/>
now its ur turn, do me</p>
  <p><strong>Sakusa:</strong> Okay…<br/>
I’d do you. </p>
</blockquote><p>Atsumu blinks stupidly. He entertains the notion that two months of speaking English and broken Russian have robbed him of his ability to parse Japanese grammar. They haven’t--he’s reading that right, and if he isn’t mistaken, Kiyoomi just made a--</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><strong>Atsumu: </strong>omi kun is that a joke??<br/>
from you????? </p>
  <p><strong>Sakusa:</strong> Well<br/>
It was a ‘joke’<br/>
But also sincere.</p>
  <p><strong>Atsumu: </strong>oh</p>
  <p><strong>Sakusa:</strong> Hypocrite.</p>
  <p><strong>Atsumu: </strong>shit omi<br/>
u flirt with all ur ex teammates like this lol</p>
  <p><strong>Sakusa:</strong> I apologize if I’m making you uncomfortable. </p>
  <p><strong>Atsumu: </strong>no ur not<br/>
kinda the opposite haha if ur cool with that</p>
  <p><strong>Sakusa:</strong> I am<br/>
I feel a little better now.</p>
  <p><strong>Atsumu: </strong>about what??</p>
  <p><strong>Sakusa:</strong> That I sent you that photo.<br/>
It wasn’t a complete disaster as I’d anticipated.</p>
</blockquote><p>Atsumu chuckles nervously, thinking about the multiple orgasms he’s wrung out of himself to the thought of it in the days since it arrived. <em>Define disaster, Omi-kun</em>.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><strong>Atsumu: </strong>guess not!</p>
  <p><strong>Sakusa:</strong> Did you look at it<br/>
Atsumu<br/>
Did it turn you on </p>
</blockquote><p>Not <em>Atsumu</em>. Jesus fuck. He can’t remember if he’s ever even heard Kiyoomi say it. </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><strong>Atsumu: </strong>r u insane<br/>
yes</p>
  <p><strong>Sakusa:</strong> Oh. Good</p>
  <p><strong>Atsumu: </strong>thanks for the input</p>
  <p><strong>Sakusa:</strong> Did you think about it<br/>
Imagine anything? </p>
  <p><strong>Atsumu: </strong>mmm kinda haha</p>
</blockquote><p>It’s not that Atsumu is unfamiliar with this sort of thing. He’s just unfamiliar with Kiyoomi, uncertain of where they stand. How far he can go. </p><p>What kind of guy sexts another dude when they’re crushing on someone else, anyway? </p><p>Atsumu doesn’t waste time thinking about it. Kiyoomi’s here in his inbox and asking for it, so fuck it. They won’t have to look each other in the eye at practice tomorrow either way.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><strong>Atsumu: </strong>i mean, to start?<br/>
getting on my knees 4 u<br/>
im real good at that yknow</p>
  <p><strong>Sakusa:</strong> Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me.</p>
  <p><strong>Atsumu: </strong>the hells that supposed to mean<br/>
ur big tho it might be a bit of a stretch<br/>
thought abt how id suck on the tip<br/>
hen take u in nice and slow</p>
  <p><strong>Sakusa:</strong> You like it slow.</p>
  <p><strong>Atsumu: </strong>nah thats just the warmup<br/>
if im feeling impatient i might let u show me how u like it<br/>
fuck my face a little</p>
  <p><strong>Sakusa:</strong> I’d like that.</p>
  <p><strong>Atsumu: </strong>who doesn’t?<br/>
not if u got too rough tho<br/>
i dont like guys who are greedy<br/>
but ur always careful n precise, i think i can trust u</p>
  <p><strong>Sakusa:</strong> I can be greedy at times. </p>
  <p><strong>Atsumu: </strong>show me sometime then<br/>
lol this is weird</p>
  <p><strong>Sakusa:</strong> I think you’d look lovely tearing up as you drooled on my cock.</p>
</blockquote><p><em>What the fuck</em>. Of course Atsumu has his dick out, of course the thing fucking jumps in his hand when he reads that. </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><strong>Sakusa:</strong> I’m sorry, your last message hadn’t come through yet. Should I stop? </p>
  <p><strong>Atsumu: </strong>no fuckin hell<br/>
ur actually a pervert huh<br/>
i kinda like that</p>
  <p><strong>Sakusa:</strong> How much do you like sucking cock</p>
  <p><strong>Atsumu: </strong>i can get off on it</p>
  <p><strong>Sakusa:</strong> And I’m the pervert? </p>
  <p><strong>Atsumu: </strong>yep still u</p>
  <p><strong>Sakusa:</strong> What else. Tell me</p>
  <p><strong>Atsumu: </strong>what i’d do if i had that fuckin thing with me rn?<br/>
besides gag on it like it was my last meal?<br/>
i think id sit u down on the couch right next to me<br/>
jack u off until u were hard</p>
  <p><strong>Sakusa:</strong> I am already. I’m so attracted to you, you wouldn’t have to touch me. </p>
  <p><strong>Atsumu: </strong>cute<br/>
oh and id have u finger me<br/>
u got nice hands too<br/>
long ass fingers i know ud get in there deep</p>
  <p><strong>Sakusa:</strong> Atsumu<br/>
Would you like me to fuck you?</p>
  <p><strong>Atsumu: </strong>hell yea<br/>
wait were u expecting sth else</p>
  <p><strong>Sakusa:</strong> No. That’s good<br/>
Is that how you like doing it?</p>
  <p><strong>Atsumu: </strong>yea i love it<br/>
it wont take long to get me ready<br/>
i use toys lol pretty often lately too</p>
</blockquote><p>Vaguely, Atsumu’s cheeks burn with shame. Maybe Kiyoomi will think less of him, knowing he’s such a bottom slut.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><strong>Sakusa:</strong> God Atsumu</p>
  <p><strong>Atsumu: </strong>what’s up</p>
  <p><strong>Sakusa:</strong> I’m so hard for you. </p>
  <p><strong>Atsumu: </strong>oh cool<br/>
lemme see<br/>
right now omi kun<br/>
or i won’t tell you how id sit on it<br/>
ride u nice and slow into the couch<br/>
wouldnt have to move a muscle babe</p>
  <p><strong>Sakusa:</strong> You do like it slow.</p>
  <p><strong>Atsumu: </strong>only makes it better in the end </p>
  <p><strong>Sakusa:</strong> &lt;attachment.jpg&gt;</p>
</blockquote><p>Kiyoomi’s cock glistens with spit and precum in low, warm lighting. His thumb caresses the tip. Atsumu moans aloud and throws his head back, bucking into his fist, half-laughing at the absurdity of it all. He barely remembers to respond.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><strong>Atsumu: </strong>sexy as fuck<br/>
im never deleting this one bro</p>
  <p><strong>Sakusa:</strong> Bro?</p>
  <p><strong>Atsumu: </strong>shut up n fuck me now </p>
</blockquote><p>Atsumu’s phone buzzes continually through his orgasm. He lets it fall to the floor, gasping, prickling with satisfaction even as he’s aware of a void yawning within--it’d feel better, he knows, if he were stuffed with Kiyoomi’s cock.</p><p>Atsumu glances over the messages Kiyoomi had sent, grinning.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><strong>Atsumu: </strong>holy hell ur one vulgar motherfucker </p>
  <p><strong>Sakusa:</strong> Do you not like it? </p>
  <p><strong>Atsumu: </strong>tf do u think<br/>
lets do this again sometime k</p>
</blockquote><p>They do end up doing it again. And again. In fact, it becomes somewhat of a habit.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>
  <a href="https://twitter.com/winwinism/status/1367316481806073857?s=20">Originally posted here.</a>
</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. SunaOsa Tiddies</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Rintarou is really into Osamu's hot bod.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><b>Rating:</b> Explicit</p><p><b>Tags:</b> Established Relationship, Chest Fucking, Praise Kink</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>For as long as Osamu has known him, Rintarou has never been shy about what he wants. He confessed to Osamu, who’d quietly crushed on him for three years of high school and then some, the same day he put a name to the feelings that were keeping him up at night. He called Osamu at 11 PM and told him he couldn’t stop thinking about the way Osamu had smiled all flustered-like when Rintarou complimented his onigiri, and that he was convinced Osamu felt the same way. He was right. Once they’d hung up, Osamu found himself so unable to sleep that he went for a run for the first time in half a year. </p><p>They can’t see each other often, not when Rintarou’s team is based four hours away and Osamu has a fledgling business to manage, but they text and talk and video call whenever they can. And the more they do, the more shameless--the more demanding--Rintarou becomes.   </p><p>“Take your shirt off. tilt the webcam down, I wanna see your tits. God, Osamu. Rub your nipples for me, kay? Wanna put my mouth on you so bad.” Or, “Turn around for me, babe, spread ‘em, oh my god. You’re telling me all of that’s mine? How am I supposed to go on when I’m not inside you? Don’t roll your eyes at me, you miyas are fucking brats.”</p><p>Osamu never feels hotter than he does when he has Rintarou’s voice in his ear, vulgar praises rolling off his tongue one after the other in that dreamy deadpan. But after, he remembers that it’s just sex talk, necessarily exaggerated, and the euphoria of having Rintarou’s approval fades. </p><p>That Osamu wouldn’t be in as good shape as a restauranteur than as a semi-elite athlete is only to be expected, but Osamu didn’t expect caring about it this much. That he’d grimace over his soft abs and thighs, muscles fading to flab as excessive taste-testing takes its toll. His pecs and his ass strain the seams of his current wardrobe, but he’s been dragging his feet about replacing it. He didn’t start an onigiri chain to get rich, and it hasn’t exactly happened yet, either. </p><p>So he’s gotten a little shy about his body--but it ain’t the end of the world, not when he has Rintarou’s heart and pro athlete bod to himself. </p><p>It’s the first time they’ve met up in a month, after a busy stretch for the both of them when opportunities to call were rare. They have reservations at six. Osamu opens the door one second after it rings and Rintarou kisses him without introduction, tongue halfway down Osamu’s throat before he can so much as get out a hello. </p><p>They make it to the bedroom without negotiation. No questions needed. Rintarou’s already turned on, cock wet and sensitive when Osamu fondles his crotch, because he’s been fucking dying for it all month--and he says so, fluent like he spent the whole train ride writing a script. </p><p>“Get hotter every time i see you,” he fucking growls into Osamu’s neck, zipping open Osamu’s fly and squeezing his ass. Osamu moans, dizzy with the feeling of his boyfriend’s hands on him after so long. “How’s that even work? You’re making me crazy.”</p><p>The praise pumps blood into Osamu’s dick and makes his head feel light, but he smiles wryly and says it anyway: “Put on a couple pounds, maybe.”</p><p>“You’re stunning,” Rintarou insists instead of acknowledging the remark, biting his lip as he slots their clothed cocks together, his washboard abs hard against Osamu’s belly. “Gorgeous. fuck, i’m running out of words here--how are you real?”</p><p>“Dunno,” Osamu says, the corner of his lips pulling up. He plays along ‘cause it’s hot, because he’s not about to kill the mood with his self-deprecating commentary. “Guess you’re just that lucky.”</p><p>“I am. Fuck.” He runs his hands down Osamu’s sides and pulls up his shirt, yanking it off, buries his face in Osamu’s neck. He grabs Osamu’s left pec and squeezes, rubbing a rough palm over the nipple pulled tight by his arousal. Osamu flushes and shudders, embarrassed by his soft body even as Rintarou’s enthusiasm goes straight to his dick. </p><p>Rintarou pulls off his collarbone to whisper right into Osamu’s ear. “You’re obscene.”</p><p>Osamu’s lips part, but no retort comes. </p><p>Rintarou palms Osamu’s right pec and pulls at them like Osamu is playdough in his hands. He is. “You know how much I fucking love your tits, right?”</p><p>“Mmh, a little,” Osamu admits, biting at his smile. </p><p>“You wanna know what i’ve been thinking about?” He pulls back to look Osamu in the eye, and Osamu struggles against an outright grin. “Getting you under me--” This, Osamu has also thought about, in his case to a truly mortifying extent. “--sliding my dick right--” Rintarou squishes his pecs together until they touch. “--between these. Fucking you just like that.” </p><p>Rintarou lets his hands fall away, the ensuing bounce of Osamu’s chest somehow gratuitous. Osamu stares, the breath punched out of him. </p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“I--I dunno--”</p><p>“I want to so bad.” Rintarou tugs at Osamu’s hand to bring it to his crotch, showing off how much harder he is just from feeling up Osamu’s chest. “Must’ve jacked off to it fifty times. No, a hundred.”</p><p>“No way.” Osamu laughs, breathless, caught between losing it over this confession and the feel of Rintarou’s cock, hugely erect just for him. “I--you think that’d even work?”</p><p>A smirk plays across Rintarou’s lips. “Wanna find out? We’ll stop if it hurts.”</p><p>Osamu swallows, gut tensing at that look in Rintarou’s eyes. He nods. </p><p>They peel each other out of their clothes, giddy with impatience, and Osamu feels the way Rintarou’s eyes rake up his body like a physical touch. Osamu wants to reciprocate Rintarou’s praise, but he’s always been awkward with compliments. “Looking good, Rin.”</p><p>“Baby, why are you so cute?” Osamu humphs, instantly disarmed, and lets Rintarou back him onto the bed. Rintarou crawls up beside him and wraps his hand around their cocks as they kiss. His hands are so big, squeezing them both perfectly. Osamu’s stomach clenches with want as he remembers how they feel inside him. It’s been too damn long. “Osamu…” Rintarou drawls, and Osamu swears he never knew his name could sound sexy until this moment. </p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“Lube?”</p><p>“Oh, yeah.” Osamu sits up to fetch it, and so does Rintarou. He presses Osamu into the mattress with a firm kiss that leaves him breathless and straddles his belly, somehow graceful despite the absurd length of his limbs, thick cock bobbing temptingly a foot from Osamu’s lips. Osamu licks them, staring at it. <em> Fuck my face instead</em>, he thinks.</p><p>Rintarou pushes the hair out of Osamu’s face, strangely tender, but his fingers tighten a moment later and yank, pulling Osamu’s chin up and lengthening his neck. Rintarou smiles with teeth. Osamu’s cock throbs, mourning the absence of friction. “Pretty,” Rintarou remarks. </p><p>Rintarou uncaps the lube and pours it over his hand, letting it spill into the valley between Osamu’s pecs. Osamu tries to monitor his breath, still the rise and fall of his chest as he watches the liquid soak the fine, transparent hairs gathered there. Rintarou smears it into Osamu’s skin, making him all messy and slick, and wets his own cock with the stuff with a bite to his lip. </p><p>“Tell me how you’re feeling, kay?”</p><p>Osamu isn’t usually very vocal during sex. This isn’t even sex. This is just. Osamu letting himself be used. “Alright,” he says. He curls his hands around Rintarou’s knees, willing himself to relax. </p><p>“You mean you feel alright, or alright, you’ll tell me?”</p><p>“Both.” He gives a wobbly smile, but it fades as Rintarou shifts closer, cradles Osamu’s pecs in two rough palms. </p><p>“Okay, baby.” Rintarou pushes them together, putting a fat line of cleavage right up his chest, and rolls his hips and oh. That doesn’t quite work, does it. Rintarou grabs at Osamu’s hands, says, “Push ‘em together for me, okay?”</p><p>Osamu must be blushing red as sin. He grabs his chest and brings his pecs together, his tits as Rintarou like calling them, and stares up at the way his boyfriend’s breathing hard, excited just from looking, not embarrassed by the way his cock bounced up Osamu’s chest on the first go-around. Slowly, Rintarou guides his cock into the space between Osamu’s pecs. Osamu’s lips part as the tip bumps the sensitive undersides, and his mouth stays open as it pops in, carving a space between the soft tissue. </p><p>The tip pops out the other end, and Osamu stares, transfixed. Rintarou huffs out a laugh. </p><p>“Fuck, you’re perfect,” Rintarou murmurs. He starts thrusting between Osamu’s pecs with experimental jerks of his hips. he’s never this careful with Osamu’s ass, but that’s how Osamu likes it. This, he isn’t sure. </p><p>Rintarou’s abs tense with the effort of it. He’s got the kind of body Osamu’s never been able to get out of his mind, all hard, efficient lines of muscle, not an ounce wasted. </p><p>As he is, Osamu feels decadent. he feels filthy, precum and lube smeared up to his collarbones as Rintarou humps him with a furious, fascinated look in his green eyes that Osamu’s never seen. Trapped under 80 kilograms of pro athlete, Osamu throws his head back and vibrates. </p><p>“Holy god, Osamu. Doing so good for me, how are you so perfect?” Osamu never should’ve let him know he likes the way Rintarou talks. Worst mistake of his life. </p><p>Osamu feels his grip slacken as sweat and lube accumulate beneath his fingers and pushes his tits closer together, clutching Rintarou’s dick tighter because there’s nothing more he wants than to be good. He never thought he’d be into the whole sex doll thing, but for Rintarou, he thinks he could surprise himself. </p><p>“Gonna cum just from fucking your tits,” Rintarou says, stacking obscenities on obscenities. Osamu’s aching for him. “You’re too sexy, baby. Can I? Just like this?” He knows damn well Osamu doesn’t mind, wants Rintarou cumming all over his face on a bad day. “I’ll fuck you right after, we got time.” </p><p>“Rin.” Rintarou gives Osamu a look that makes heat pulse through his dick. “Please.”</p><p>Rintarou’s cum hits the underside of Osamu’s chin, drips down his neck in fat rivulets. Rintarou gasps, rides it out between Osamu’s pecs, and Osamu only lets himself go when Rintarou’s hips still. His chest twinges as his pecs fall back into place; he’ll be sore tomorrow, if he isn’t by tonight. </p><p>He drags two fingers thoughtlessly up his neck, just scratching an itch, and collects a gob of Rintarou’s cum. </p><p>Osamu pops them into his mouth. The taste is worth it for the broken way Rintarou says his name. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>
  <a href="https://twitter.com/winwinism/status/1369557452082020355">Originally posted here.</a>
</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. OmiHina Pomegaverse</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Kiyoomi turns into an adorable pomeranian when stressed.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><b>Rating:</b> General</p><p><b>Tags:</b> Pomegaverse, Fluff</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They’re courting sponsors at a V.League gala when Shouyou asks, innocuously: “Hey, where’d Omi-san go?”</p><p>Sharp-eared Atsumu overhears and immediately breaks off his conversation to join Shouyou in scanning the banquet hall. Players are easy to spot among the much-shorter JVA and corporate representatives, but that distinctive curly head of hair is nowhere to be seen. </p><p>“Shit,” their captain says when he, too, notices; “I swear I was keepin’ an eye on him, but the kid’s been itching to get away the whole night.” </p><p>There’s an anxious tenor to Shugo’s expression that makes Shouyou worry; surely it isn’t that big a deal if Kiyoomi decided to ditch. Though the Black Jackals could benefit from his presence, given that his performance in the last season--and subsequent drafting to the national team--made him a bit of a star.</p><p>“Listen,” Shugo tells them, “I’m a little preoccupied to go hunt him down, but if you two have a minute--” He clears his throat. “Well, I don’t wanna say too much, but this could be bad. It’d be a great help, is all.”</p><p>Though Shouyou doesn’t pretend to grasp his meaning, he agrees, and he and Atsumu split up after a brief strategizing session mostly consisting of telepathy and nods. </p><p>Shouyou heads first for the coat check, asking if the clerk had seen anyone with a black cloth mask and two distinctive moles, and goes to the restrooms next. He’s hit with a modest sense of deja vu as he pushes through the door. </p><p>Of all the times he’s encountered his rivals in public restrooms--because Kiyoomi is his rival, even if Omi-san mostly acts like Shouyou doesn’t exist and has never betrayed the slightest desire to compete with him--this has to be the oddest. </p><p>The door thunks shut behind him, and Shouyou stares, motionless, at the puppy hunched along the opposite wall.</p><p>Shouyou knows it’s him at once because while he never knew Kiyoomi was one, he did pay attention in school sometimes and knows about pom hybrids as well as anyone. Despite evolving societal attitudes, most hybrid types still hide their status. It doesn’t surprise Shouyou that Kiyoomi would. Pomeranian hybrids can’t transform at will; they do so involuntarily when stressed, and can only transform back after being pet and lavished with affection. </p><p>But Kiyoomi, Shouyou also knows, loathes being touched. Petting him would be absurd. Shouyou would worry about getting his arm bit off if Kiyoomi were in human form, much less if he were a puppy.</p><p>The puppy has long black fur and two tufts of white above his right eye. This, also, tells Shouyou everything he needs to know.</p><p>The puppy trembles, visibly so even from a distance, and growls in an unconvincing high-pitched whine. Shouyou takes a step closer, and the pom--no, Kiyoomi--flinches. </p><p>Shouyou’s never met a pom hybrid in their transformed state before. But he doesn’t live under a rock, he knows what they’re supposed to be like. They might bark or snap their jaws, but ultimately what they need are some pets and a good, long cuddle. The important thing is being gentle in the approach.</p><p>Shouyou doesn’t try to move any closer. He kneels on the cold tile and sits back on his heels, arms outstretched, fixing his no doubt stunned look into a comforting smile. </p><p>“Omi--I mean, Sakusa-san?” Shouyou asks, hesitant. He gestures for Kiyoomi to come over, but the puppy doesn’t move. Only stares back, his growling-whining trailing off. “Are you okay? Wait, you can’t answer that. I--we don’t have to cuddle, okay?” </p><p>The little back-and-forth flap of the pomeranian’s tail ceases as well, though Shouyou can still make out the faint shudders wracking his small body. It breaks Shouyou’s heart a little, to be honest. He knows Kiyoomi doesn’t like crowds, that he gets anxious about germs. That he has a thing about control. Shouyou’s never seen it come to a head before, though, supposing that’s what he’s seeing now. He wonders what triggered it. Were the reps too persistent? Too aggressive? Shouyou entertains a twinge of anger at the thought of that, too. </p><p>He lowers his voice still further, glancing behind him as if the door might suddenly open to a flood of suit-clad harassers. “I won’t pet you if you don’t want. Okay? Just follow me, Ill take you somewhere safe.”</p><p>But--Shouyou wonders--what will happen if he doesn’t pet him? Would he still change back? Or would he be stuck that way, out of commission for days, maybe weeks? Is that why Shugo was so anxious?</p><p>Shouyou suddenly realizes he can’t recall if poms understand human speech when transformed, either. </p><p>Well. That would be inconvenient. Maybe he should’ve paid a little closer attention in school.</p><p>But if Shouyou isn’t imagining things, Kiyoomi seems like he’s shaking less, and his beady eyes are still fixed coolly on Shouyou. Can’t be doing that badly. </p><p>“A-and,” he goes on, hoping that Kiyoomi can understand, “I won’t tell anyone either! That you’re, um, a pom.”</p><p>Silence. Shouyou purses his lips, unsure if more comforting words would help.</p><p>But that seems to have done it; Kiyoomi takes a cautious step away from the wall. </p><p>Then another. Shouyou’s breath catches as Kiyoomi trots over, the soft <em>pam-pam </em>of his paws along the tiled floor and the sway of his tail hopelessly adorable. Shouyou keeps his arms outstretched, but Kiyoomi swerves to avoid him at the last minute, little head looking skyward. Almost haughtily. Shouyou huffs out a laugh and stands. “Gonna follow me?”</p><p>He watches Kiyoomi carefully, and his eyes bug out when the dog actually nods. He’s had so little interaction with hybrids that seeing them behave like humans do when transformed is still unnerving. </p><p>But when he heads for the door, Kiyoomi doesn’t follow him. He wags his tail in the middle of the bathroom, staring at Shouyou.</p><p>“Don’t wanna go yet? Okay. We can wait.” He checks his phone, seeing a text from Atsumu. He messages back: <em>Omi’s safe with me</em>. He ignores the string of question marks he gets in response. </p><p>Though he doesn’t mind keeping Kiyoomi company, he does worry that someone would come in and see them like this. He kneels down again. Kiyoomi sits on his haunches as Shouyou does, tail stilling once more. </p><p>Shouyou gnaws his lip, unsure of what to do. “You sure you don’t want me to pet you?”</p><p>Though it’s not like Kiyoomi had ever said otherwise. Maybe he just needs--</p><p>Time. that’s it. Kiyoomi doesn’t want to rush into it. </p><p>“I’m here if you need me.”</p><p>The pomeranian’s little tongue flicks out, and Shouyou giggles despite himself. He’s always thought those dogs were so cute. His fingers itch to pet him, scratch him by the ears, run through that soft fur. </p><p>Then, one tentative step at a time, Kiyoomi comes.</p><p>He doesn’t go for Shouyou’s arms at first. He pads up by Shouyou’s thigh and pauses to rub himself against it, eyes closing. Shouyou holds himself very, very still. Kiyoomi might be getting fur on his slacks. The thought makes Shouyou want to laugh again. </p><p>Then Kiyoomi stops, looking up at Shouyou, and <em>oh</em>, if that isn’t what the phrase puppy dog eyes was coined for.</p><p>“Do you want me to pet you?” After a moment, another little nod comes. Shouyou struggles to tamp down his grin. </p><p>“Okay. c’mere, Omi-san.’ Cautiously, giving Kiyoomi time to shy away if he wants, he cups the pom’s small head and pats with two short flicks of his wrist. “Is that okay?” At the very least, Kiyoomi doesn’t object. “More? want me to hold you?”</p><p>Kiyoomi stares, and barks once. Shouyou can’t help his grin: “What? No?” He goes to pet Kiyoomi again, but Kiyoomi trots around him and lifts one paw to tap Shouyou’s knee. His tail wags faster. “Oh. Oh, you want me to--”</p><p>Kiyoomi doesn’t let him finish. He crouches and hops onto Shouyou’s lap, and Shouyou startles before he laughs again, cradling Kiyoomi’s small form in his arms before he falls off. The pom is warm and so, so soft and Shouyou can’t remember the last time he’s held anything so adorable. Maybe decades ago, when he was very small himself and Natsu was a newborn. </p><p>Those little eyes wink up at him as Shouyou gradually tightens his hold on Kiyoomi, pulling him into a hug. There’s no resistance, just subtle shaking that, after a minute, finally subsides. </p><p>Shouyou strokes his flank, listening to and feeling Kiyoomi’s breath, the rapid-fire beat of his heart. It would be strange if someone walked in on them, but it’s not as if this sort of thing is completely unheard of. Shouyou thinks they’ll be fine. </p><p>He can’t remember, either, how long this sort of thing usually takes. Minutes? Hours? He’d happily tolerate a few hours of this; maybe if they were back at the dorms, and Shouyou was kicking back and comfortable, maybe watching TV. at the moment, that sounds like heaven. </p><p>Suddenly, the bathroom door pushes open. Shouyou has a moment of panic in which he just barely resists whirling around and throwing Kiyoomi off his lap in the process; then a voice announces a familiar presence. “Shou-kun?”</p><p>“Miya-san!”</p><p>Shouyou looks over his shoulder, smiling wryly with relief. When Atsumu sees who’s in his lap, his eyes go wide. “What the--that’s--”</p><p>“Yep,” Shouyou says. “I didn’t know he was a pom either. He seems a lot calmer now, though.”</p><p>“Not that,” Atsumu says. Slowly, he draws closer. </p><p>“I knew he was one, he said so when we started sharing an apartment,” Atsumu says. Shouyou supposes that’s reasonable, but that doesn’t explain Atsumu’s shocked look. “But he’s never--he’s never let me touch him.”</p><p>As if agitated by this confession, Kiyoomi turns and barks. </p><p>Atsumu holds a finger up to his lips. “Hey, you shh! What if someone hears?”</p><p>Shouyou’s brow furrows. “What do you mean?”</p><p>“I mean he bites.”</p><p>Kiyoomi barks again. Atsumu arches a brow like a stern parent. Shouyou finds the whole interaction very silly.</p><p>“I mean,” Shouyou reasons, “I think, maybe, it’s just that I’m good with animals? Cats usually like me.” For some reason, he’s reminded of Kenma. </p><p>“Uh, sure. But Omi-kun’s not an animal.”</p><p>“Humans are animals, too.”</p><p>“Whatever.” Atsumu coughs. “I don’t get it. Guess he just likes you or something.” He throws up his hands. “I’ll, uh, let you two be.”</p><p>Inexplicably, Shouyou finds himself blushing. He thinks: <em>Kiyoomi likes me? Impossible</em>. Kiyoomi’s never let Shouyou touch him, either. They don’t even exchange high-fives. Until now. </p><p>“Wait,” Shouyou says before Atsumu heads out. “How long do you think this is gonna take?”</p><p>Atsumu pauses and shrugs. “Dunno. Usually when he transforms, it takes a couple hours. But that’s ’cause he doesn’t let anyone pet him.”</p><p>“What about now? What’s, like, the average?”</p><p>“It depends.”</p><p>“On what?”</p><p>“Lot of stuff? Like how stressed the hybrid is, the kind of touch they get, whether they’re particularly fond of a certain person.” He gives Shouyou a pointed look. “No more than an hour, usually.”</p><p>“Um, okay! Thanks!” </p><p>The gala should be ending in a couple hours. If what Atsumu says is true, and applies to Kiyoomi, they might be able to make it back before things wrap up.</p><p>Wait. Would Kiyoomi still have his clothes when he transforms back? Shouyou really needs to read more about hybrids. </p><p>Carefully holding Kiyoomi in his arms, Shouyou stands and heads for a stall. Better to guarantee that they have some privacy. He sits on the edge of the lid and murmurs an apology for the non-ideal location. Kiyoomi probably finds it gross, but he doesn’t complain. He whines and wriggles a little, but falls still.</p><p>Like this, they sit, Shouyou petting Kiyoomi occasionally, and listening to the quiet synchronicity of their breaths. The exciting novelty of the situation recedes, and Shouyou finds himself relaxed, almost sleepy. </p><p>Then--it happens without a sound. One moment, Shouyou has in his lap an adorable pomeranian; the next a familiar human form, one comprised of 192 centimeters and 80 kilograms if the Black Jackals’ website is to be believed (and Shouyou always keeps tabs on his rivals’ stats). </p><p>Shouyou grunts. There isn’t so much as time to exchange eye contact before they both ungracefully fall to the floor. Kiyoomi groans in pain as Shouyou collapses on top of him. Shouyou struggles to his feet, and pulls on Kiyoomi’s shoulders to help--but stops when he remembers. Kiyoomi may have let him touch him in pom form, but as a human, his boundaries remain the same. Shouyou backs off as best he can, unlocking and opening the stall door so Kiyoomi can escape.</p><p>“S-sorry,” Shouyou says, flustered. Kiyoomi gets up onto his knees and glances back. </p><p>“It’s fine.” They’re the first words Kiyoomi says to him all evening. He stands and walks calmly to the row of sinks to wash his hands. Shouyou stares, then follows.</p><p>Kiyoomi’s hand-washing routine is as thorough as ever. Shouyou watches for a few seconds before catching himself. </p><p>He’s seeing Kiyoomi in a new light, he realizes, reframing everything he’s known about Kiyoomi with his pom hybrid status in mind. But he’s still the same person. Still the same great spiker, someone he admires to a painful degree. </p><p>“Thanks.” Shouyou startles. Kiyoomi doesn’t look at him at once, waiting until he dries off his hands and discards the paper towel. His gray eyes are as cool and distant as ever, but Shouyou wonders if there isn’t a faint redness to his cheeks.</p><p>“Yeah!” Shouyou says. He clears his throat. He’s hardly ever self-conscious about anything, but something about Kiyoomi wants him to be cool and collected and generally not-dorky. “No problem,” he adds in a deliberately lowered voice. Anytime, et cetera. And if Kiyoomi ever happens to have that problem again, would he please ask Shouyou for help? If this wasn’t just a one-off, and Kiyoomi does feel comfortable enough around Shouyou to let him touch, at least when he’s a pom. Because Shouyou really, really wouldn’t mind. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p><a href="https://twitter.com/winwinism/status/1370611553779777540?s=20">Originally posted here.</a> </p><p>
  <a href="https://twitter.com/chaoscrab1994/status/1388985490263527428?s=20">Check out this adorable art of pomeranian Kiyoomi by @help_crab here!</a>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. SakuAtsu Angst</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Kiyoomi hooks up with Osamu on Atsumu's wedding night.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><b>Rating:</b> Explicit</p><p><b>Tags:</b> Unrequited Love, Bad Decisions</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Atsumu’s wedding is held in mid-March, when it’s not too hot or cold and the cherry blossoms are just starting to bloom. Hitoka makes a beautiful bride. </p><p>The gold accents in her kimono perfectly complement her blonde hair. Kiyoomi remembers attending his older sisters’ weddings and thinking that they looked just as beautiful.</p><p>Atsumu’s never looked happier. Not when they won the V.League, not when they took Olympic gold. Like the sun itself, he glows.</p><p>The whole national team attends the reception. Motoya tries to chat with Kiyoomi the way he always does, but this time he must realize his efforts are futile, and he wanders off to greet some of the other guests, leaving Kiyoomi to his self-pity. No one is stupid enough to try to rope Kiyoomi into conversation; his antisocial glower does well enough to avoid that. A couple drinks lose any shame he might’ve once had, and he watches Atsumu with a lidded gaze boiling over with hate. </p><p>Seeing him like this--suited up, hair perfectly styled, face flushed with happiness as he talks animatedly and stares, moronically in love, at his bride--inflicts upon Kiyoomi a kind of agony that’s almost fascinating to experience. He watches Atsumu to test his endurance. To see how far this can go before he can take no more and, presumably, he does something stupid.</p><p>Atsumu pulls him aside at one point, and he must see the tipsy clumsiness to Kiyoomi’s movements and the dark edge in his eyes by the way his smile wavers. But he doesn’t hesitate to clap Kiyoomi on the shoulder. Now, Kiyoomi accepts a little physical contact.</p><p>“You know how much i love you, Omi,” Atsumu says. Instantly, Kiyoomi’s throat is tight. “God. If it weren’t for you, I dunno if I’d be here right now.”</p><p>Kiyoomi knows. Kiyoomi knows there’s no timeline in which Hitoka doesn’t fall for Atsumu, even ones where he doesn’t have Kiyoomi to help him make it happen. Ones where he cries on someone else’s shoulder after a bad breakup, has someone else reassure him that he can love again. That he’s good, that he’s worthy of it. Even in his egotism, he has moments of paralyzing self-doubt that are heart-stopping to watch. Atsumu’s stopped Kiyoomi’s heart more than a couple times. He’s stopping it now, this time for good. Kiyoomi feels hollowed-out. Empty. </p><p>“Of course, Miya,” he says instead of any of the hundred mean, nasty, pathetic things on his tongue. Atsumu laughs.</p><p>“Miya? After all this time?”</p><p>“Habit, apologies. Atsumu.”</p><p>Like a spell, saying his name is what does Kiyoomi in. The pressure in his chest unwinds and spirals out to the tips of his fingers. He feels light, unreal. He makes small talk and meets Atsumu’s shiny eyes like an automaton, watching his own robotic movements from afar. Then the moment’s over, and Kiyoomi is left cold. </p><p>Kiyoomi makes his decision when Osamu stands on one of the tables to make a toast. He’s not like Atsumu; more reserved, saner probably. His hair is black and close-cropped on the sides and his arms are enormous, filling out his suit jacket. His sloppy grin is different, too. </p><p>“To my best friend,” Osamu says, and isn’t that sweet. Up there, he gets some less-than-polite hollers and catcalls from his high school friends. Kiyoomi knocks back the last of his drink and drags his eyes up Osamu’s figure, convincing himself. </p><p>“To be honest, I never thought I’d see the day you loved something--someone--more than volleyball. But even though we’ve got the same DNA, you always surprise me. Surprised that you settled down before me, first of all.” This gets some laughs. “But not really. You’ve got the biggest heart of anyone i know.”</p><p>Kiyoomi re-learns just how much of an ugly crier Atsumu is.</p><p>When Kiyoomi saunters up to him, hips swaying, he learns there’s some truth to the rumors he’s heard: the other Miya twin goes for men. </p><p>Kiyoomi knows this outfit makes him look impossibly long and slim. He undoes a couple buttons because gosh, all this body heat is making it hot in here, isn’t it. He clutches the brim of his glass in his fingertips and crosses his arms, perching against the wall near Osamu. </p><p>Osamu’s triple-take is hard to misinterpret. They’ve only met a couple times, and Kiyoomi had wondered about the way Osamu’s eyes lingered. Did Atsumu talk about him? No, of course he didn’t. Osamu was curious in his own right. And so is Kiyoomi. </p><p>Their features have the same sculpted nobility, their thick eyebrows identically striking. Osamu runs his fingers through his hair and glances at Kiyoomi a fourth time. He’s itching to go talk to him. Kiyoomi gives him bedroom eyes and licks his lips. </p><p>Across the banquet hall, Hitoka’s friends pore over the newlyweds’ glittering rings. Their laughter sends a stab of pain through Kiyoomi’s chest that makes him physically cringe. He’s about to break for the bathroom when Osamu finally comes to him. </p><p>He stares unashamedly up his body, and meets Kiyoomi’s eyes with a smile Kiyoomi doubts he intended to look so smug. It’s the most Atsumu-like expression Kiyoomi’s ever seen from him, and Kiyoomi thinks: <em>yes</em>. <em>Jesus fuck, I want you</em>.</p><p>“Sakusa,” Osamu says, sounding it out. </p><p>“Y’know, I really enjoy watching you play. Why haven’t we talked?”</p><p>Kiyoomi shrugs. He tells Osamu to call him Kiyoomi. From him, the name sounds perfect. Atsumu hasn’t bothered to call him more than Omi in forever. He started on his own, and Kiyoomi never told him to stop. </p><p>Maybe he should’ve. Maybe, if he did, he wouldn’t be here right now.</p><p>They steal away to Osamu’s hotel once the reception starts winding down. It’s a short walk, an awkward elevator ride, and a skip and a hop until Osamu has him pressed into the door as it slams shut. </p><p>Kiyoomi gets his knee between Osamu’s thighs and finds him already a little stiff in his slacks. Thinks, <em>I’m that hot, huh?</em> He gets off on it. He reminds himself that this is Atsumu’s twin, bearing an identical copy of his genome, and gets off on it more. </p><p>Osamu’s soft stomach presses into his abs as they kiss, and his thick fingers run greedily down his body, mapping each muscle and angle through his clothes before they mutually agree to peel each other out of them. Osamu sucks on his neck as Kiyoomi shrugs off his shirt. </p><p>He’s a lot, really intense. But of course he is, he’s a Miya. They don’t talk, except for what Kiyoomi sees as the bare minimum: a moaned “God, fuck me,” when Osamu gropes his ass and pulls up one long thigh to roll their hips together. </p><p>Across countless nights, Kiyoomi has imagined Atsumu would be vocally expressive in bed. He’d have a filthy mouth, talk like he’d walked out of a porno, and be utterly un-self-conscious about it. Osamu grunts when Kiyoomi fondles his dick through his boxers and that’s it. </p><p>Kiyoomi spread his legs for him and eggs him on, rolls his hips down onto fingers that fill him better than his own. Osamu grins, the most positive feedback he’s gotten all night.</p><p>“Want it like this?” Kiyoomi’s too busy staring at his dick. It’s long, curved to the left. </p><p>He blinks, burning it into his memory. Then he shakes his head. “No, like--”</p><p>Osamu’s fingers slide out of him and he rolls over onto his belly. He glances back, likes the way Osamu’s staring. But even if their faces are the same, it’s still all wrong. Wrong hair, wrong voice. </p><p>There’s no electric spark down his spine when Osamu caresses his thighs and spreads his ass, but he does want it and his toes curl at the feeling of Osamu’s cock over his entrance. Osamu holds him up, pressing bruises into his hips as he fucks him open, biting back moans. </p><p>Being full makes Kiyoomi’s mind unwind. Heartache turns to a different kind of ache. Osamu’s big enough to stretch him more than he usually likes but he reminds himself that this is Osamu, Atsumu’s carbon copy, which means--in another life, one less cruel--this is how it’d feel. </p><p>If Atsumu took him back to his hotel, lured him into a bed rented for the night, fucked him into the mattress. If he were too impatient to speak, too eager to use Kiyoomi to chase his release. If Atsumu were his.</p><p><em>You know how much I love you</em>.</p><p>At once, Kiyoomi can imagine it. </p><p>His entire body flares hot on the next thrust, surging closer to cumming than he’d be with anyone else. He clenches around Osamu and makes him huff, makes his fingers sink deeper into his flesh. Kiyoomi shakes, trapped beneath the force of his own arousal. </p><p>Osamu hardens inside him. Kiyoomi moans when he feels it, and suddenly he can’t stop, the way Osamu rams into him forcing out little gasps on each thrust. is this how--yes. This is how it’d be. His eyes screw up and he gets louder, talking enough for the both of them.</p><p>“Atsumu!”</p><p>Osamu’s hips still. Kiyoomi’s breath catches, and he blinks into the dim, frustration gathering at the lack of stimulation. “nly after several beats does he realize.</p><p>“S-sorry.”</p><p>Kiyoomi cringes as Osamu pulls out, then withdraws from him fully, hands abandoning his hips. </p><p>Osamu rolls over, lies back on the other side of the bed. Growing mortification dulls any pleasure Kiyoomi gets from rubbing his cock into the mattress.</p><p>“Sorry,” Kiyoomi mumbles again. Osamu shakes his head minutely, staring up at the ceiling.</p><p>“Yeah, I can’t do this.”</p><p>“I didn’t--”</p><p>“Don’t tell me--” Osamu bites his tongue. “Whatever. I don’t care what you’ve got going on. I just can’t fuck someone if they’re thinking about my brother while we do it. ’S gross.” He glances at Kiyoomi, somehow apologetic. “No offense.”</p><p><em>I deserve it. </em>“Alright.”</p><p>Their breaths slow in concert. Osamu doesn’t try to kick him out or anything, which is great--Kiyoomi’s softened a bit, but he’s still aching for it, sore and pulsing and needy. He turns onto his back, steals a glance at Osamu’s half-hard cock. Runs his eyes up his body, too. </p><p>“I--” His tongue feels thick in his mouth. “I do want you, y’know.”</p><p>Osamu laughs something bitter. “Yeah, okay.”</p><p>“Do you, um, need me to leave.”</p><p>He waves a hand. “Take your time.”</p><p>Alright then.</p><p>Kiyoomi settles back and runs a leisurely hand up his torso, his neck, threads it into his hair and pulls. It’s calculated but looks absent-minded and he doesn’t miss Osamu’s sidelong glance. Kicks one knee up and wriggles his hips like he’s just getting comfortable. </p><p>“Hey,” Osamu says.</p><p>“Hey yourself.”</p><p>Kiyoomi touches himself as if his hands belong to someone else, but he doesn’t touch his dick. Osamu’s getting hard again, watching him openly. He starts slowly jacking himself off like Kiyoomi isn’t right here and won’t notice. </p><p>Kiyoomi immediately stops arching his back and wriggling around inanely and sits up, knocks away Osamu’s hand and straddles his hips. Osamu’s stare is pained, but he doesn’t throw him off, hands going to Kiyoomi’s thighs and touching him all over like he can’t help himself. </p><p>Kiyoomi feels a little crazed as he stares back. A little unlike himself. The furious pound of his heart and the blood rushing to his dick numb the pain that threatens to seep back in, the sense of dread on the horizon--dread of what? The worst has already come to pass. </p><p>No, it hasn’t passed, Kiyoomi thinks. Now we’re just in it. This is day one.</p><p>Osamu’s brow arches, a perfect facsimile.</p><p>“Let’s just finish, yeah?” Kiyoomi suggests. He could never love Osamu. He wouldn’t be able to find it in him, and he could never do that to him, besides. </p><p>Osamu’s jaw works. “Grab another condom. just--” He stops Kiyoomi with a hand on his forearm, grip painfully tight. “--don’t say shit or I swear to god.”</p><p>Kiyoomi nods. He smiles, an unnatural twitch of his lips. “I won’t.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>
  <a href="https://twitter.com/winwinism/status/1372026205415821315?s=20">Originally posted here.</a>
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        </blockquote></div></div>
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